Page 64 of Rolling 75 (The Noire Brothers #1)

He scans the courtroom, presumably for disorder, and holds up a finger to me, pointing to his earbud. He’s listening to something.

“He’ll be with us in a minute.” Bryce says that as though we were waiting on a cocktail server, not security while he divulges his list of crimes.

“I’m getting to the part that will be really interesting to you.

How I orchestrated things with all three of you at once.

Dalton was so easily influenced. I put a little bug in his ear again—this time it was about how he could never get you to say yes to a date.

And even if he managed that, he could never keep you because you were Ryker Noire’s property. ”

“Keep a safe distance, but appear nonconfrontational.”

“This is incredibly enlightening, but we might need to finish this another time. Hadyn is expecting me to meet him for our next appointment.” I scooch my chair back, trying to put a little more space between us, and oddly, he doesn’t seem to mind.

“This will only take another two minutes. Hadyn will wait.”

He’s so at ease, detailing his murders, that the sight has bile shooting up my esophagus.

“Once Dalton got you to go out with him, I told him you were in love with Ryker and it would never go any further. I gotta hand it to him—the pregnancy was a nice touch. He knew you’d do the right thing since I had filled him in on your ethics.

He was riveted by your backstory. Your father’s stint in The Order played into his own daddy issues about being left out of that organization.

I knew he’d put you through hell, which was more fun than offing you.

I figured Ryker would kill Dalton for me.

I’ll admit, I thought that would’ve happened a hell of a lot sooner.

But you and your moral code. You kept Ryker at arm’s length and even seemed to keep Dalton calm.

Impressive. At one point, I was actually rooting for you. ”

“Set strong verbal boundaries.”

“I’m more comfortable with some space between us.” I move my chair back some more, the legs screeching against the floor, so I’m at the far end of the table.

“Of course. I’ll stay where I’m at.” His blasé responses are setting off a slew of red flags in my mind.

He’s got something planned. “Anyway, once Dalton lost it on you, I knew he’d either end up dead, imprisoned, or always on the run.

I posed as one of the cleaners and stole the picture, just in case I needed something to taunt him.

My only loose end was you. I didn’t anticipate you being gone for so long.

I kept trying to become a member at La Lune Noire so I could keep an eye on Ryker, assuming he’d be bringing you back. And Emma came in handy.”

He stands, but stays at his end of the table.

“The bummer was that Trafton caught on. I had mentioned something about being fostered by the Salvadori family a while back, and some connection in The Order had him piecing things together after Emma mentioned how excited she was that you were back in town. It was a shame because I liked him, but his death turned out to be a fun twist. I’d planned to use him, but this was seamless.

It brought you and Ryker to me, offering to help me out in court—a place neither of you would be armed—to defend me in a crime I purposefully committed.

And on top of the email, it caused quite a frenzy with Ryker.

Finding out he’d stabbed Monroe Montgomery was a delight. Never liked that schmuck either.”

I mask the surprise that blankets my features a second too late.

“Ahh, Ryker didn’t tell you about that.” He smirks, leaning forward like he’s sharing a secret. “You really can’t trust that guy.”

“Stick to simple defense moves, and remember, anything can be a weapon.”

I rise, gripping on to the opposite end of the table, ready to flip it if necessary. He can’t be armed in here either, but I know from experience that fists are lethal weapons.

He gestures to my guarded stance. “It’s clear you’re uncomfortable, so I’ll get out of here.

This has been fun, Counselor. Sometimes, plans turn out better than you hoped.

I don’t always get to see them play out on someone’s face.

This probably goes without saying, but you may remember a phone call.

That was me telling Dalton to finish you.

Seconds before your Noire knight arrived. Easier to bury a body. Witnesses talk.”

He knocks on the maple wood table. “Well, lucky for you, you’re not permitted to talk now because of your attorney-client privilege. If you turn me in or warn Emma, you’ll lose everything. But I guess if you don’t … you’ll lose a piece of yourself. Your father had a choice. So do you.”

With that, he walks away, and I can hardly believe it. My breaths pant out. My heart thrashes against my ribs and sternum and temples, lodging itself in my throat. I drag my bag toward me, but my hands aren’t working properly. They fumble with the contents to find my phone.

Bryce stops at the double doors, clutching the pull handle, and calls back to me, “Let that be a lesson to you, Mercy. There’s usually more than one guy.”

He disappears into the hallway as I sigh in relief, locate my cell, and flick it on, quickly pulling up the prepared SOS message and pressing Send.

A second too late.

Shadows fall on the terrazzo floor, and someone grabs me.